The Perfect Cut
by Alunabelle Night Shadow
Summary: When tragedy yet again strikes the Kaiba family, Mokuba should feel grief, anger, or something. But he feels numb. Empty. Nothing matters anymore: not his friends, his supportive ex, the fact his brother has no time for him, not even school. The only thing that matters is the relief he feels when he cuts. It's temporary, but it works. What hope is there for him? Darkfic. R&R.
1. Prologue

**The Perfect Cut**

**Warnings**: Kaiba/(modern) Kisara. (Scattered) Bits of Mokuba/OC, Mokuba/Rebecca, OC/OC, Yami/Yugi, Seth/Kaiba, Joey/Mai, Valon/Mai, and such. (OC) Character Death, Drama, Tragedy, Family, Angst & Hurt/Comfort. Post-Series. AU-ish/OOC. Rated M for adult themes (language, sexual references, self-harm, mentions of abuse, and graphic scenes that may not be appropriate). Might be a trigger warning. Also references child-abuse, and some other things that might disturb you, such as gore.

So this is a story based on an inspiring and beautiful book called "The Perfect Cut" by an author named Julie Burtinshaw, which I deeply loved even though it hit very close to home. I own neither the original concept of Julie's book, nor do I own Yu-Gi-Oh! It belongs to Takahashi & Co.

Also, the story is written in 3rd Person's POV, however it focuses mainly on Mokuba, and Kaiba, with some Kisara and the other characters too. Mokuba's about 15/16 (his birthday will be in the story), Kaiba's 20, and Kisara is 18.

* * *

_**Prologue **_

Mokuba could learn to spend forever in his bathroom. Because in the bathroom he can spend hours watching the steel and soft skin...

Imaging the eventual collision between electropositive element and organic matter.

Even so, he never cuts.

He never tells the truth, either.

He lies.

* * *

He was surprised that finding a proper razor blade that could do the job seemed like the hardest thing in the world to accomplish. Kisara's Venus simply didn't cut it, so to speak. So he ended up at Domino's local hardware store.

Not the one nearby the Kaiba Manor, because someone might recognize him. Okay, not just might. Not only was his brother world-famous, but around their neighbourhood people were even more likely to recognize him.

He didn't want anyone asking him questions.

People talked to each other too much.

He could never be too safe.

Gossip. All over.

As he got older, he became more perceptive and noticed more than he ever had before. It amused him to pretend that people were interested in him, personally. No one really cared about him, it was his brother that was famous. His brother the prodigy, the genius, etc.

But he liked to pretend people cared about him, too.

So, instead of walking up the street to the nearest hardware store to his home, or having Roland or one of the others drive him, threw on a dark hoodie to hide his face and trademark mane of glossy black hair, got on the bus downtown, where nobody knew anybody.

He bought a six pack of single-edged steely razors. The old-fashioned looking kind that he imagined his father or grandfather (both dead at this point), may have used to shave.

He was prepared to tell the store clerk that he needed them to scrape stickers off of his car window (he looked close enough to the legal driving age).

But the clerk didn't ask.

The clerk didn't care.

Nobody did.

* * *

**So... I'm working on the next chapter of my story "Blue Eyes Filled With Pain" (a Kaiba/Kisara story, for those of you who don't know), and the next couple chapters were going to be fairly fluffy as a late birthday present for Seto (his birthday was yesterday on the 25th), however I've been having trouble deciding what to do in the story, so I decided to do this - which has been in my mind for a while. **

**In the first chapter it will be somewhat explained why Mokuba is this way, but I figured the kid must have had some kind of trauma in his head. I mean, his mother dies giving birth to him (it doesn't specifically say so, just that she died when he was born, but most fans take in this way), his dad died when he was a young boy. He and his brother were shipped off to a less than ideal orphanage after their relatives dumped them and used up their inheritance, they got adopted by an abuse jerk who kept them separated, and then after said jerk "died", he had to watch his brother slowly becoming as cold and icy as the person who adopted them while constantly being put in danger because of his brother's position. Not to mention, it seems like Kaiba, as much as he loves his brother, wouldn't have much "brother" time, and thus the kid would likely have raised himself. So...yeah. That's like a classic reason for someone to have low self esteem, being compared to someone considered smarter and better then them, no real parental figures, being secluded due to a different social status. Not to mention his brother doesn't even believe in friendship, so I doubt the kid got a lot of fun birthday parties and sleepovers. **

**I'm not saying it's a certain situation that he'd be troubled, it just seems like a great plot opening. **

**So... yeah. First real chapter will be up shortly.**


	2. Memories

**The Perfect Cut**

**Warnings**: Kaiba/(modern) Kisara. (Scattered) Bits of Mokuba/OC, Mokuba/Rebecca, OC/OC, Yami/Yugi, Seth/Kaiba, Joey/Mai, Valon/Mai, and such. (OC) Character Death, Drama, Tragedy, Family, Angst & Hurt/Comfort. Post-Series. AU-ish/OOC. Rated M for adult themes (language, sexual references, self-harm, mentions of abuse, and graphic scenes that may not be appropriate). Might be a trigger warning. Also references child-abuse, and some other things that might disturb you, such as gore.

So this is a story based on an inspiring and beautiful book called "The Perfect Cut" by an author named Julie Burtinshaw, which I deeply loved even though it hit very close to home. I own neither the original concept of Julie's book, nor do I own Yu-Gi-Oh! It belongs to Takahashi & Co.

Also, the story is written in 3rd Person's POV, however it focuses mainly on Mokuba, and Kaiba, with some Kisara and the other characters too. Mokuba's about 16/17 (his birthday will be in the story), Kaiba's 21, and Kisara is 19.

* * *

**Chapter One: Memories **

* * *

Mokuba Kaiba stood motionlessly in the middle of his room; in his hand he gripped the new, old-fashioned razor blade he'd bought earlier that week, but had yet to use. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his bedside alarm clock read that it was 11:15 pm.

It didn't matter though, however late it was. His brother wouldn't be home for hours, if he bothered leaving work at all, which sometimes he didn't. Kisara, his brother's girlfriend, was on a trip to Egypt to visit her (adoptive) brother back home. And Roland, the maids, and other employees never entered his room without knocking. Even if they did, his door was locked.

He always took precautions. As desperate as he got, he couldn't take the risk of getting caught.

He didn't like to rush into it, because he loved this part; saw it as the physical equivalent of a great book, like the opening riff in "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida."

He shook his head, shaking those thoughts away physically, before setting to get to work. First, he gently lifted his shirt - a long-sleeved, tight-fitting black shirt, and pressed the edge of the razor against his soft, pale skin.

_Cold comfort_, he thought to himself.

The tight ball of anticipation that had been building in his stomach since he bought the razor pack began to uncoil like a poisonous rattlesnake, ready to strike. He moved slowly, methodically, and when he could no longer wait for even a second more, he ran the cold steel blade with a careful, unhurried precision across his smooth belly.

Mokuba cut shallowly, but just a little more deeply than the last time he did it. Just enough to slice a dark, thin red line about two centimeters above his naval. The flesh opened perfectly, and the deep ruby blood seeped through his pale white skin.

Almost unconsciously, he slowly drew in, and then held his breath. Partially to keep his stomach taught, and partially to wait for the pain to go away.

Not the physical pain, of course. The cutting didn't hurt - if only it did. He merely felt a light sensation. And with that sensation came relief - a fleeting, but nevertheless there, confirmation of his existence.

If he'd ever had to put it into words, Mokuba might have said, "For a little while, for just a moment, I don't feel empty. I don't feel angry, sad, or confused. I feel alive. As if I am a real person." He might have even added something like, "But it never lasts for long enough."

The blood rushed to fill the opening before easing into a light trickle and beginning to clot, as he had known that it would. He let out his breath, slowly. Very slowly.

Something near to a smile played about on his lips.

He used the edge of his shirt sleeve to wipe away the dampness in his eyes, so he could carefully examine his newest piece of handiwork.

Then... he heard her. Her voice in his head. He'd started hearing her ever since she died.

_'A perfect cut',_ Amaya whispered in his ear. And he shivered slightly, practically able to feel her cold breath touching his skin._ 'Just the way I showed you, Mokie.'_

Out of habit, he turned towards her, feeling her approval cloak him from the cold, like a warm coat on an icy winter's day. Crisp and refreshing, but cold and dead at the same time.

But there was no Amaya. So... what had he expected?

Still, that didn't mean that he had imagined her... right? Did it? He had seen tons of things that seemed like only an imagination could come up with. Illusions. Hallucinations.

And yet... they had been real.

Pale violet/grey eyes travelled carefully around his bedroom, but except for the shadows of the pale lamp light, he was completely alone.

He was completely alone.

And only then, did he feel the sting of the self-inflicted incision.

He crossed the room and slowly opened his curtains, looking up at the sky. The dark, starless sky. The moon engulfing it in a breathtakingly pallid majesty.

Yet he felt no comfort looking at it. The only comfort he felt was looking at his new cut. The pale moonlight allowed him to admire the fresh carve in his skin. Laying between his belly button and his rib cage.

Above the cut, many faint white lines scarred his flesh - several sets of railway tracks on his skin. It hadn't been the first time.

No, the first time had been on the inside of his ankle, crudely cut in a nightly shower when he was fourteen. The one after that had been on his inner elbow. He had been looking for places that no one would see, no matter what he wore, but it'd been difficult. Eventually, he realized his stomach was the only thing that, out of his whole body and with his entire wardrobe, would never be visible. So he'd used that area.

His chest, stomach, sides, and the inside of his arms had all been used at one point. Faint scars which he had passed off easily as school ground accidents. A bike crash here, a roughhousing injury there. Simple.

But underneath his shirt, where no one saw, he didn't have to explain anything to anyone, at anytime.

He counted his scars.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Then he counted them again, and again.

Uneven numbers bothered him. He had about nine cuts on his stomach, which meant that he would have to go back to the razor soon.

His fixation on odd and even numbers started just days after Amaya "left". He remembered the day in his mind. Over two years ago now, almost three. He'd been fourteen, and it was a bit after the KaibaCorp. Grand Prix Championship Tournament.

July 7th, 2007.

That had been the date. His fourteenth birthday. Also the day his mother had died, the day he was born.

777.

Seven. Seven. Seven.

Perfect numbers.

Numbers to avoid.

Ironic.

At first, his obsession had only been with sevens. But, gradually, even over the last couple of years, he'd begun to avoid all odd numbers.

It worried him because thinking about stuff like that led to a whole new set of complicated problems and questions.

Questions like, "am I different from other people?" He'd always felt like a bit of an outside. Granted, back then, he, Seto and Amaya had been outsides together, so it hadn't been so bad.

But now Amaya was gone. And Seto might as well have been too, for all he saw of him.

Either way, when he was younger he had explored these questions with, sadly, disappointing results.

_"Daddy, how do I know if I'm normal?"_

_"Of course your normal, son. Don't be ridiculous."_

His father had patted him on the top of his head, and sent the four-year-old on his way. It hadn't been long after that when their father died.

_"Niisama, how do I know if I'm normal?"_

_"What? Don't be silly, Mokie. You are normal, did someone say you weren't?" _

Typical Seto. Even at eight years old he'd been similar to their dad, but still more kind about it. Their father had loved them, but his wife's death had left a heavy toll on him that he'd turned to the bottle for solace. And it made him a little less nice. Not even close to being mean or dangerous, but just less of a friendly, kind dad he was when sober.

Then, he'd gone to Amaya...

_"Onesan, how do I know if I'm normal?" _

_"Pff. If you have to ask, then you're not." _Had been the six-year-old's flat, disinterested response, and before she had kicked her little brother out of her room, she'd added _"Anyways, in this family, how can anyone be 'normal'?"_

It wouldn't be until much later that he really thought about it, and understood what she meant...

* * *

**So, yes, this is pretty much the reason Mokuba is so emo right now (no offense to emos around the world - I was once one and I know self-harming doesn't necessarily mean "emo" (personal experience), nor does it define who you are), along with the other stuff he's gone through. We'll go a little deeper into the relationship between the three (now two) Kaibas late on.**

**Anyways, leave a review and let me know what you think!**

**Hopefully chapter three will be up tomorrow, and I'll post a new update on "BEFWP" as well. Thank you to all my lovely readers, and I look forward to your feedback!**


	3. Reflection

**The Perfect Cut**

**Warnings**: Kaiba/(modern) Kisara. (Scattered) Bits of Mokuba/OC, Mokuba/Rebecca, OC/OC, Yami/Yugi, Seth/Kaiba, Joey/Mai, Valon/Mai, and such. (OC) Character Death, Drama, Tragedy, Family, Angst & Hurt/Comfort. Post-Series. AU-ish/OOC. Rated M for adult themes (language, sexual references, self-harm, mentions of abuse, and graphic scenes that may not be appropriate). Might be a trigger warning. Also references child-abuse, and some other things that might disturb you, such as gore.

So this is a story based on an inspiring and beautiful book called "The Perfect Cut" by an author named Julie Burtinshaw, which I deeply loved even though it hit very close to home. I own neither the original concept of Julie's book, nor do I own Yu-Gi-Oh! It belongs to Takahashi & Co.

Also, the story is written in 3rd Person's POV, however it focuses mainly on Mokuba and Kaiba, with some Kisara and the other characters too. Mokuba's about 16/17 (his birthday will be in the story), Kaiba's 21, and Kisara is 19.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Reflection**

* * *

Thinking about the concept of normal made him realize just how smart Amaya was. She always somehow managed to hit the nail on the head.

He found himself thinking about her constantly these days. How he had adored her because she was so much older and wiser than him. He had adored both Amaya and Seto. They were older and smarter than him. He knew it, and he hadn't minded. Because he had the best siblings a kid could ask for.

But now Amaya was gone. And Seto couldn't care less about him.

He knew his sister had never wanted to be normal. She had gone out of her way to be different from other people. To be different meant to better, and like everything she did, she pulled it off with a confidence that Mokuba had desperately longed for.

* * *

How long had he been frozen in his room, staring vacantly out of the bedroom window, his mind focused on all those yesterdays? A minute? An hour? Did time even have any real meaning to him anymore?

He didn't know.

He ran the back of his hand against his smooth, pale face, as though the answer lay on the tip of his finger.

He found himself pondering his old house, for some reason... He remembered very little about it, as he'd only lived there for the first four years of his life.

He might not have any memories of his mother, but it had been hard not to know who she was in that house. Everything reflected the young, vibrant woman who had given birth to him, and given her life for him.

He remembered standing in front of his own small dresser when he was a young child, because past the dresser was the glowing moonlit night sky. He had always loved the night, for some reason. And like everything in the house ,the piece of furniture had reflected a dead woman's love of beautiful things - the most expensive, the most well designed, the most elegant.

At times it made him sad. Melancholy. She was clearly a beautiful woman on the inside and out, his family had loved her, but he never got to meet her. Never got to see her smile or feel the warmth of her eyes...

He closed his eyes, and angered at these thoughts, yanked his window shut. It didn't make a sound, and the silence made him want to cut again.

_"Save it for the special moments only," Amaya had advised him, just shortly after his thirteenth birthday. "Times when you really have no choice." By that time, there were few places on Amaya's body that hadn't felt the knife blade, or the angry burn of a cigarette._

It brought about a new memory, one he had long since buried but didn't quite realize was still in his head.

* * *

_Mokuba and Kasumi, one of the employees at their home, were in the back garden. He was eleven - twelve next week - years old. Gozaburo had been gone for almost eight months now. Change had been in the air. The old KaibaCorp. was gone for good. _

_Kasumi took care of the gardens around the house (mansion), something that she loved to do. The raven-haired boy was quite fond of Kasumi, and he liked to think she enjoyed his company as well - why else would she put up with him all the time otherwise? _

_He supposed his younger, childish mind hadn't realize this was the beginning of a long line of people being nice to him simply because of who his family was. Still, a part of him liked to believe, even now, that Kasumi had liked him. _

_She was the closest thing to a mother figure he'd ever known, after all. _

_It's very hot out, nearing the end of June. But that's fine, 'cause Kasumi made them lemonade. It's the real deal - not the pulp-free stuff you get in grocery stores. He loves the smell of fresh lemons, sweet but with a pleasant sting to it. _

_Kasumi is pretty, he thinks to himself. Even though she has streaks of dirt on her face and her hair is tangled. _

_He knows his schoolmates moms, but his Kasumi is the best. She's smart, and pretty and fun and everything a kid could want in a mom. She knows all about seeds and plants too. _

_Mokuba likes to hear stories from Kasumi. Stories about when she was nineteen and travelling all around Europe. She wanted to own her own flower shop, one day, and so she took pictures of all sorts of flower arrangements so she could copy them when she opened her store. Just before she returned to Japan, however, a thief stole her camera and she lost all of her photos. _

_"At first I was really mad," she tells him, reaching forward to brush some sweaty locks from the boy's face. "But after a while I realized it didn't mater, in the end, because I had stored all of the photos in my head." And then she laughs, lightly, because the thief hadn't gotten the best of her, and her eyes sparkle like they do when she sees beauty or justice of just plain fun. _

_Just then, the back door swung open, and his Onesan, Amaya, is silhouetted in the frame. She is tall for her age and could be mistaken as being much older - just like Seto. He couldn't wait to get taller too. _

_Her stance is defiant as ever. Niisama says she has "attitude". Mokuba wants some of that one day, too. _

_"Kasumi," she calls out. Like Mokuba, she likes Kasumi too, although he thinks it's more of a sister than anything. Since Kasumi is only a few years older than her, at the age of twenty three, so she might be her role-model. _

_The dark-haired woman looked up. Amaya's naturally strawberry blonde hair with the caramel highlights in it is now dyed a deep blue-black colour with auburn streaks in the roots. "What do you think?" She asks, spinning around and laughing. _

_Kasumi knows that at the age of fourteen, Amaya's hair is as unpredictable as her moods. Unlike Seto, she knows that argument is futile. "I love it," she replied. "Come on out and join us. I've got a jug of homemade lemonade." _

_"It's too hot outside." Amaya told her. Inside it was nice and cold. _

_"Why don't you put on some shorts and a tank top then?" In spite of the brutal heat outside of their home, Amaya is wearing dark jeans, "ripped for air-conditioning," and a long-sleeved black shirt with sneakers. _

_"I'll just take a glass to my room," She strode over to where they sit beneath the sakura tree and accepted the offered drink. He notices that her hands are just like how their father's used to be, with short nails and calluses on the tips of her fingers, because of her love of music and guitar playing. _

_"Thanks," She playfully punches Mokuba's shoulder. "Come upstairs when you're finished with gardening, and I'll teach you a new song." _

_"I love your hair," The raven-haired boy said. "Kasumi, can I get red and blue in my hair?" _

_"Thanks little brother," She grins. _

_Kasumi rolls her eyes, but they both knew she wouldn't mind. Seto, however, probably would. He could imagine his Niisama saying something like "What a waste of time. What's wrong with the hair you were born with?" _

_When Amaya leaves, Mokuba and Kasumi finish their lemonade and go back to planting vegetable seeds. The sound of the middle-Kaiba child playing guitar drifts out the bedroom window and serenades them. _

_Eventually, Amaya puts away her Stratocaster and stands at her bedroom window, sipping her lemonade. It tastes like a summer day, and reminds her of when she was a young girl. Mokuba and Kasumi were creating in their garden. It is a quickly growing crop. Kasumi has a green thumb, and her brother is a quick learner. _

_Part of her wishes she could throw on a pair of shorts and a tank, just like Kasumi suggested, and join them in planting seeds. But she can't. _

_She is surprised by the wave of nostalgia that washes over her. She missed the days when she could do stuff with her brothers. Even if it was back in that hell-hole orphanage. She missed being a kid. _

_She can't wear shorts, skirts, dresses, T-shirts, or tank tops. Even though she has abstained for a week and there are no fresh carves on her body, the scars are still visible. She hopes that one day they will fade to nothing. She's determined to never cut herself again, but thinking something and doing it are never the same. Still, she is strong, and she knows it. So she just might succeed. _

_From upstairs, she can hear her brother giggling in delight, his childlike innocence is refreshing. He is still a little guy, she thinks, but that will change. Mokuba will be twelve next week when July hits. And when school starts in a couple of months, he'll start junior high. _

_Next year, in February, Amaya will be fifteen, and she starts high school this year. Then, when she's sixteen, she get her driver's license. She'll take Mokuba driving. He adores her, just like he does with Seto. She can see it in his eyes, and she loves him back, even if he is a bit of a wimp. Amaya feels very proud of Mokuba. He's a fighter. With all the crap they faced in life, she had become cold, and so had her older brother. They hardened, in order to survive. They changed. But he hadn't. He was still the sweet, innocent little boy he always was. _

_She knows she can be a bitch at times, and Seto often acts like an asshole. But Mokuba was the same as ever. _

_She admired his strength to stay himself. Even if he refuses to stand up for himself most of the time. _

_Oh well, he'd learn eventually. _

_Amaya wishes things were different. She reflected on how Mokuba just looks down when people berates him, where as Seto or she would yell right back. Mokuba usually does exactly as he's told, so maybe a bit of change would be good. _

_She always says what's on her mind, defends herself, even if it pisses people off. She doesn't care. Her brother knows this, and so does everyone at school, so they don't boss her around. Still, he'd probably freak out if she found out what she done earlier, Not even because of her hair, he was used to that by now. _

_She opens her bedroom window a little wider, hoping for a breeze. Because even with the air conditioner on in the house, she feels hot. She then plants herself in front of the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door and sticks her tongue out, examining the silver stud and making sure there was no infection. _

_One of these days, she'd have to tell them, her family. Seto would freak out, Mokuba would want one - and Kasumi... well, Kasumi surprises her sometimes, she might just like it. _

_Yep. One of these days she'd have to 'fess up, but not today. She plugs her guitar into her amp and begins to play. _

_Pretty soon, she forgets about everything in the world except her music. _

* * *

**So, yeah... This was mostly a reflection/flashback chapter. I've been working on it all morning and am fairly satisfied with the results. So leave a review and tell me what you think, thanks! **


	4. Music

**The Perfect Cut**

**Warnings**: Kaiba/(modern) Kisara. (Scattered) Bits of Mokuba/OC, Mokuba/Rebecca, OC/OC, Yami/Yugi, Seth/Kaiba, Joey/Mai, Valon/Mai, and such. (OC) Character Death, Drama, Tragedy, Family, Angst & Hurt/Comfort. Post-Series. AU-ish/OOC. Rated M for adult themes (language, sexual references, self-harm, mentions of abuse, and graphic scenes that may not be appropriate). Might be a trigger warning. Also references child-abuse, and some other things that might disturb you, such as gore.

So this is a story based on an inspiring and beautiful book called "The Perfect Cut" by an author named Julie Burtinshaw, which I deeply loved even though it hit very close to home. I own neither the original concept of Julie's book, nor do I own Yu-Gi-Oh! It belongs to Takahashi & Co.

Also, the story is written in 3rd Person's POV, however it focuses mainly on Mokuba and Kaiba, with some Kisara and the other characters too. Mokuba's about 16/17 (his birthday will be in the story), Kaiba's 21, and Kisara is 19.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Music**

* * *

Mokuba awakens, from the foggy reality of memories that had infected his mind. He felt as though he'd abruptly been pulled from a deep sleep, wondering how he'd ended up standing at the end of the hallway, inches away from Amaya's bedroom door.

He attempted to blink the grogginess away, but his thoughts stayed unclear, even after several long minutes. Not only were the flashbacks, so infrequent in the beginning, becoming more and more common, but the time gaps were increasing, as if the line between the past and the present were dissolving. Would that line one day dissolve completely?

He closed his eyes and mentally listed what he knew about the past twelve hours: he'd been at school all day - hadn't skipped a class. He'd taken his time getting home, stopping at the second-hand bookstore where he'd picked up a Sudoku magazine and a tattered copy of _The Doors_. He remembered thumbing through the pages, until he came to a picture of Jim Morrison pounding out a song, oblivious to anything else.

Amaya had loved The Doors. She'd taught him to play "The End," and they often played it together. At the time he hadn't been aware of the irony of the lyrics. And now, he found himself standing outside of her room, half convinced that if he could see through the solid wood of her door, she'd bee in there, head bent over her Stratocaster Rosa Hurricane, her long hair obscuring her profile, and then she'd look up and over at him, and say, "Come on in, Mokie. Need some help with math?"

He took a deep breath, and slowly moved four paces to her door. Closed. Locked, probably, but he couldn't bring himself to turn the handle.

The _Amaya Shrine_. Out of bounds for over two years now.

He slowly backed away from her door, the thick Persian carpet muffling the sound of his footsteps. How long had he been standing there for? Five minutes? Fifteen? No way of knowing for certain...

He listened to the sounds of the house, but he could only hear the sound of his short, rapid breaths. The silence told him his brother was not home.

Big surprise.

_One, two, three, four. _

_Don't look at the other door._

He knew one sure way to get back to the present.

* * *

After, at the sink, he held the razor underneath the steaming-hot water. He couldn't detect blood. It had been a fast, clean cut, no more than three centimetres long. He dabbed at it with a small piece of toilet paper and washed the razor. The hot water did its job. Cleaned and sterilized. Rinse away the trace amount of blood. Wash the bad go down the drain. He imagined the invisible DNA washing through the pipes, disappearing.

He dried the razor and put it in the cabinet, then he washed his hands slowly to sixty, to make sure that he hadn't missed any germs that might be hiding in the cracks of his skin or underneath his fingernails. Another neat square of toilet paper joining the dozens of others in his sock drawer.

He returned to the main part of his room and stripped off his shirt and threw it into the laundry basket to join yesterday's jeans, socks, and assortment of T-shirts. Almost all black. He didn't wear much colour anymore, didn't like endorsements. _Not my job to be a walking billboard for Nike or Reebok_.

He considered himself to be one of the most-principled unprincipled teenagers that he knew.

He grinned at himself, feeling something, instead of just dead inside. He put on a clean shirt, careful to hold it away from his stomach so as not to irritate the new cut. Downstairs, he thought he could hear a low hum of conversation. Pots and pans rattled, water ran, cooking smells - onion and garlic - drifted up the stairs, almost masking the smell of chicken.

The cooks had finished shopping.

He wasn't sure why they even bothered paying people to cook for them. Mokuba usually just ate plain, uncooked packaged foods and snacks he had stored away in the cupboards, and his brother was never home for dinner - and if he was he almost never ate.

When he was young there was an excuse. Even if Seto didn't have time to be home and eat, Mokuba and Amaya were still "growing" in his mind, never mind the fact that the three siblings were only two years apart each from the other. When Seto took over, Mokuba had been eleven going on twelve, Amaya had been fourteen and Seto had been sixteen. All still children, not that he would admit to himself being a "child" still.

Either way, to his surprise, dinner smelled pretty good. His stomach rumbled, and he couldn't remember when the last time he'd ate was, or if he'd eaten at all that day, but in spite of his hunger, the energy to eat simply eluded him. Food wasn't the problem, but the thought of sitting down at night for dinner by himself was torturous. And the thought of a sit-down-and-pretend-everything-is-cool dinner with his brother was even more daunting. It'd hadn't been bad when Amaya had been there, in the middle, as if balancing them all out. It was a theory. Truth? He couldn't tell anymore. Maybe he'd made her into a saint like they all had.

He wished his brain would just shut up for a bit. A CD and a smoke seemed like a good distraction right about now. He pushed Play on his CD player and closed his bedroom door before lighting a cigarette. He leaned halfway out the window to smoke it. His brother had a nose like a bloodhound, and Mokuba really didn't need a lecture right now.

He'd only recently taken up the habit. And the smoke burned his eyes. He closed them against the disappearing sun. Autumn had always been his and Amaya's favorite season.

_"September is the real New Year,"_ she'd tell him. _"It's the beginning of everything, not January. Think about it, Mokie. Summer ends. We go back to school. A new grade. Getting into a routine. January is in the middle of the year - at least that's how it feels like to me."_

Thinking about his older sister made him smile, until he really thought about it, then it hurt. He opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on the gardens below. Nothing had grown there for a long time.

He imagined falling, but he couldn't. A coward in the end. He inhaled deeply and considered that perhaps, by taking up cigarettes, he had simply opted for a slower, more drawn-out suicide. He grinned at the thought and tossed his smoke down to the ground below, before diving onto his bed and surrendering himself to the music. As much as he loved rock, and certain types of pop, country music had always been his sort of secret pleasure. He was glad he was fluent in English, there wasn't much good Japanese country music out there.

Unless he wanted to listen to bad, slowed-down cover versions of Vocaloid music on NicoNico, which was essential Japan's version of "YouTube".

He closed his eyes and relaxed.

_'Dry lightning cracks across the skies._

_Those storm clouds gather in her eyes._

_Her daddy was a mean ol' Mister. _

_Mama was an angel in the ground. _

_The weatherman called for a twister. _

_She prayed, "blow it down".' _

He actually quite liked Carrie Underwood. Despite how odd that might have been for a Japanese kid. Her voice wasn't squeaky and cutesy and girly like all of the J-pop singers he was used to. She could really hold a note, that was for certain anyways.

This song in particular, "Blown Away", struck him. It reminded him of his family, in an odd sense. Seto was definitely a storm on his own, and Amaya had been the pure picture of defiance. His dad - his biological one, had been an alcoholic, not necessarily a mean one, but more of a distant one. His adoptive father, on the other hand, had been like an abusive alcoholic minus the alcohol. He'd prayed for that jerk to die, and in the end he did. Just not in the way expected. And his mother, well, she had been underground, that was certain...

_'There's not enough rain in Oklahoma, _

_To wash the sins out of that house. _

_There's not enough wind in Oklahoma, _

_To rip the nails out of the past.'_

He shut his eyes more tightly, to the point he saw colours, as the chorus came.

_'Shatter every window 'till it's all blown away. _

_Every brick, every board, every slamming door blown away. _

_'Till there's nothing left standing, nothing left of yesterday. _

_Every tear-soaked whiskey memory blown away. Blown away.'_

Mokuba found his thoughts and memories threatening to overcome him again, and cranked up the CD player to the loudest setting. He'd rather deafen himself at that point rather than relive all of those painfully sharp, clear memories again and again. As he drowned himself in the loud, but nonetheless beautiful popish country song, and managed to drift off into sleep to the sound of it.

* * *

**Not much to say about this chapter... I first heard "Blown Away" by CU a short time ago and fell in love with it, despite my stubborn denial of liking country music. I noticed every big country singer (Martina McBride, Carrie Underwood, etc...) has at least one song about an abusive/alcoholic and/or otherwise difficult life at home in their childhood... Think it's a coincidence? **

**Let me know!**


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